THE FULFILLING BACHELOR EXISTENCE

One must always encourage the female of the species to eat. Women, left to their own devices, will neglect food until the urge for something greasy and deepfried takes over. At which point there is just no dealing with them. Either that or they fall back on the old two-pint bucket of peanut-brickle icecream at three o'clock in the morning, when everyone else in the house is asleep, and the only sounds are gentle snoring from one room, and wet creamy lip-smacking noises from another.
It is very sad.

I am convinced that there is no other basis for the masculine - feminine relationship dynamic than food. Men are born scroungers; we'll head into the kitchen or the pizza parlour whenever we're peckish, and either find some three-day old tuna salad and Ritz Crackers, or order a pepperoni and anchovy special with bell peppers, in one of four convenient sizes.

Medium, Large, Xtra Large, Hovercraft.

But when a hungry woman is part of the equation, we tend toward a more balanced diet. "Have some vegetables", we will say when she goes for her third helping. As well as "here, some more rice and chilipaste -- it's filled with vitamin C, you know".
It's our nurturing side. We must have a female to make it bloom.
We're also pretty good at buying peanut-brickle icecream.
Provided we're not the only ones eating it late at night.


BACHELOR DIET

Most women will understand the tendency to indulge in tasty nutritious snacks and staged little dinners, once it is explained to them. And with proper cultivation, they will stop buying Fritoes Big Family Pallet of Grease-O-Crispadoodles every month, when they wake up from their long naps. Or cruising the internet for shoes, handbags, love and affection, and details of the private lives of real housewives of New jersey and Orange County.

Truth be told, women are natural bachelors, and it's a cruel irony of fate that they, and not the warmly embracing and supportive male of the species, are the procreative sex.
The only reason they tolerate the little buggers that spring from their loins is because it distracts men. And it gives them an excuse to buy the two-pint buckets of peanut-brickle ice cream.
"Surely," they opine, "a growing boy needs peanuts?"
And indeed there are tons of peanuts.
In that bucket of icecream.
It's nutritious.

The proof of the pudding is that I haven't had any peanut-brickle icecream in a very long time; as a single man, there is no motivation to buy it.
No three o'clock in the morning woman.
No growing boy requiring peanuts.
Nor Fritoes Crispadoodles.
Despite the protein.

I live on a rich nutritious diet of pizza and three-day old tuna salad.
Plus Ritz Crackers, anchovies, rice, and chilipaste.
I sleep soundly at night.
Vegetables.



I am obsessed with icecream.




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